" "Very right, my love," said Wood, "very sensibly remarked. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. "The poor things!" The manager laughed.
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